


Terms of Engagement

by mogwai_do



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's not as awful a pilot as he sometimes thinks he is, all he needs is the right encouragement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terms of Engagement

Martin scrubbed the towel over his hair and wiped a hand across the condensation in the mirror, clearing a broad sweep. He had to leave for work in less than an hour and he was equal parts eager and nervous. Carolyn had traded him to another low budget airline while GERTI was undergoing repairs; they'd been short a captain and stood to make a loss and Carolyn's keen sense for weakness had seen the opportunity for her to make money while GERTI couldn't fly and be owed a favour. 

Martin felt he probably should have objected to being pimped out, except... Except Carolyn wouldn't have done it if she’d thought he'd mess up and cause problems for MJN and, well, much as he loved GERTI, he'd never had the opportunity to fly one of the bigger planes. His own pride had made him want to argue even though he'd known it was stupid to refuse such an opportunity, but it had been Douglas who had finally managed to silence that voice. He’d pointed out that Carolyn wasn't really in a position to trade out services she didn't pay for in the first place, so at the very least, Martin should be paid whatever they were paying Carolyn. Both Martin and Arthur had ducked out of the office then, seeing Carolyn's expression, but later, after the dust had settled, Martin had found himself signing his name to a piece of paper wherein he waived payment for the loan out and in return he became a paid employee of MJN Air ...whom Carolyn could then pimp out to her heart's content should another similar situation arise, but that was fine, more than fine. 

The contract still sat on his desk; he should have filed it away, in fact he kept doing just that, but then he would find himself pulling it back out again, just to convince himself it was real. He was a proper Captain now; it was his job, not a hobby or someone's charity. Admittedly, it wasn't anything like a proper captain's salary, but it was enough, proof against Simon's insinuations and his own doubts. All that remained now was to actually fly the plane. 

He'd flown simulations, he knew the theory, but even so, it was moderately terrifying if he let himself think about it too long. Unfamiliar plane, unfamiliar crew, a lot more passengers... Martin shook himself out of those thoughts; he was getting a bit better at that, but it still wasn't easy, he had found, however, that a point of focus helped.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, the condensation gathering once more to blur the image while his thoughts had turned inwards. Unfortunately the heat of the shower had flushed his skin pink in a way that, frankly, clashed horribly with his hair, but more importantly it had eradicated the slight reddening at his throat and wrists where the leather had bitten just a little, just enough to be noticeable through everything.

Long fingers touched his throat; he felt naked without the heavy, black leather. Well, he was naked, he had just showered after all, but it wasn't quite the same. Without it he looked, well, he didn't look like much of anything really: skinny, pale, ginger... He'd never seen a captain when he looked in the mirror, even when he was wearing the hat... 

Martin scrubbed vigorously at his face, wiping away the water that dripped from his hair and wishing he could scrub away the thoughts too. Alright, so he'd never seen a captain, but then he'd never seen anything desirable either and well... Martin reached out to his reflection and drew a collar on it in the returning condensation. He did look different like that, and maybe it was only to his own eyes, but different was different. Maybe it was like wearing glasses: you couldn't see what was missing until you put them on, and when he wore the collar, when he was told to look, more than that, to _watch_... 

Martin shuddered involuntarily, body abruptly recalling sensations from only a few hours ago. He had been valuable... no, valued. He'd pleased and been praised; he'd been _important_ , the centre of attention, the only one to do the things he did despite a whole world of competition and he knew it, knew it was him and only him and... and he loved it.

Martin began to scrape the razor along his jaw and tried to find that place again where the doubts didn't even register and he was confident in his ability to do what was asked of him because he wouldn't be allowed to fail.

By the time he rinsed off his razor and wiped the last of the foam from his face, he thought he'd probably found a shaky approximation of it. It helped that it was so fresh and near to the surface, and he wasn't entirely stupid, he'd known that had been half the point of their mid-afternoon interlude, but still. The remembrance of it lingered, like a pleasant aftertaste, but remained frustratingly out of his grasp, like a finishing off a strawberry tart when you knew it had been the last one. He appreciated that someone cared enough to try to help, even if it perhaps didn't quite have the success they'd hoped.

"Martin, I realise a certain amount of admiration is only natural, but you can't stay in there all night."

It was the same, slightly bored, sarcastic voice he heard on a daily basis, but Martin still found it difficult to understand how Douglas could say things like that so casually; how he could imply that Martin was someone beautiful like it wasn't earth-shaking, worldview-altering news.

The door opened before he managed find the right response and he couldn't quite bring himself to turn around, instead watching Douglas’ approach in the mirror. Martin’s eyes met his briefly before sliding away, and Douglas sighed and rolled his eyes, "Really, Martin? Again?"

Martin dropped his gaze, focusing on tapping out the loose whiskers from his razor against the edge of the basin. "I know," he murmured a little plaintively. They'd long ago got past the point where he said he was trying and Douglas said he knew and Martin felt like a fool and an idiot for being so pathetically grateful for that supportive acceptance. 

Martin set the razor aside and looked up, straightening his shoulders and finally meeting Douglas' eyes in the mirror. For a moment he saw a glimpse of something like pride or love flicker across his lover's face and then Douglas was dipping his head to place a small kiss at the base of Martin's neck, right where the buckle had rested. Martin shivered a little at the intimate touch, but the warm, broad hand that replaced the lips, just resting there, stilled the movement immediately. 

"I was going to wait until you got back on Wednesday, but I think, all things considered, now might be a more opportune moment." A small smile flickered across Douglas' lips as he stepped back, "Get dressed, Martin."

He wasn't entirely sure where Douglas disappeared off to, but he didn't reappear until Martin had almost finished getting ready, his jacket laid to one side so it wouldn't get rumpled on the ride to Fitton, and he was double-checking the contents of his overnight bag. He zipped it shut with a certain finality and straightened to see Douglas lounging in the doorway with his typical insouciance.

"All done," Martin announced for want of something to break the silent regard. He tried to imbue it with some kind of excitement for the trip, but he suspected he just sounded a bit crazed. 

Douglas huffed an amused breath, "Not quite yet."

Martin glanced at his bag, mentally going back through the contents, checked his jacket and hat; he couldn't think of anything he'd forgotten, though that did rather defeat the definition of 'forgotten'. When he turned back to ask Douglas what he was talking about, the other man was an awful lot closer. For a moment Martin thought Douglas was going to step in closer still and he could feel a kind of anticipatory urge to drop to his knees, but Douglas remained a respectful pace away and, to Martin's immense surprise, extended one hand out flat and resting on his broad palm was a plain black box.

Martin frowned, but he didn't reach for it until Douglas waved it slightly with a sigh of exasperation. The box was surprisingly heavy when he picked it up; it was expensive too, the tiny logo in the corner of the box said so, and Martin was quite adept at assessing price in his perpetual near-penniless state. Martin cast another quick glance at Douglas before he opened it. 

Nestled on a bed of blue velvet lay a heavy silver chain; the flattened links were far too heavy to be feminine and there was something odd about the catch. Martin looked up, "Douglas?" he asked confused.

Douglas stepped forward into Martin's personal space and poked at the chain with a broad finger; the links moved with an almost organic fluidity. "It's titanium," he said with a surprising lack of either boredom or sarcasm, "I thought about platinum, but decided you'd probably rather we kept the house."

Martin blinked, the implication filtering past the surprise, "For me?"

Douglas rolled his eyes, "Yes, Martin," he said slowly as if he were speaking to, well, to Arthur, but there was a glimmer of humour in his tone.

Martin looked up at Douglas and back at the chain; he didn't do jewellery really, though that was more through lack of funds than any real personal objection to it. He could feel Douglas' eyes on him as he poked the chain himself, feeling cool, smooth metal and not much else.

"The fastening screws down," Douglas offered.

Martin blinked, that would be unfeasibly awkward, but even as he thought that he realised what Douglas was not saying, "Oh."

Douglas smiled then, "Yes, Martin, 'oh'," but his voice was more fond than anything else.

Martin continued to stare at the chain, still not quite able to get his head around the concept. Now he was really looking he could see a tiny engraved DR near the fastener; it could have been the hallmark, but that was on the opposite end of the chain.

"It's up to you of course," Douglas said, "you don't have to." And it was probably only the many long hours spent together that let Martin hear just the tiniest waver of uncertainty in that smooth voice.

He looked up then, but there was nothing given away on Douglas's face, at least not until Martin placed the box back into his hands and then there was a flicker of... something. But then Martin was reaching up and dragging his tie free and throwing it on top of his jacket, popping the buttons of his shirt quickly one by one, and Douglas' expression was much more familiar: smug but with an undertone of something else. 

Douglas had already discarded the box when Martin looked up again and he was holding the chain, one end ready in each hand. Martin turned his back and the shiver as the chain slid over the bare skin of his collarbones had nothing to do with the chill of the metal. He felt Douglas tug at his shirt collar and realised it was getting in the way so he shrugged the shirt from his shoulders, letting it slip down his arms to his elbows, baring most of his upper body. The slither of metal over his skin became somehow more pronounced then and Martin visibly shivered, but Douglas didn't say anything. He could feel the touch of Douglas' blunt fingers against the sensitive skin at his nape, fumbling a little actually. 

"This wasn't as complicated in the shop," Douglas grumbled and Martin found himself smiling despite himself. There was a sigh then, "Can you duck a little, Martin? I can't get the right angle," Douglas muttered. There were occasionally disadvantages to being almost the same height... 

Martin dropped to his knees without a second thought; his uniform trousers might get a bit rumpled, but honestly he just didn't care, it felt better like this anyway. He heard a faint sound of surprised something from Douglas and then he felt him leaning over, his breath faintly stirring Martin’s hair and his fingers moving more confidently now. After a moment more, the fingers withdrew and Martin felt a small kiss placed just above the fastening of the chain and for some absurd reason found himself blushing like a fool. 

A quick tap to his shoulder and Martin stood up, turning around to face Douglas, conscious of the weight of the metal looping around his neck. It was a short enough chain that he couldn't really see it himself, but he could feel it acutely. Douglas' smile was somewhere beyond smug and out the other side and it felt ...odd - that it had been caused simply by Martin agreeing. 

Martin shrugged his shirt back up onto his shoulders and began to do up the buttons. He felt... better with the chain on, even unfamiliar as it was right now, but he resisted the urge to touch it. He would later, on the flight, in his hotel room in front of the mirror, when he needed to remember. He was almost to the point where the shirt would hide the chain when a finger reached out, hooking beneath the metal and giving it a slight tug.

Martin's breath caught and he looked up from beneath his lashes. Douglas was watching him with an absolute focus that should have been unnerving, but wasn't. 

"Carolyn may choose to loan you out as she pleases, Martin; this," and he gave the chain another little tug, "is because I will not."

Martin swallowed against the words he didn't have, but that wanted to come tumbling out anyway. Eventually he just nodded; Douglas smiled and began doing up the final few buttons himself, before reaching for the tie and looping that around and knotting it carefully. Douglas stepped back and cast an appraising glance over Martin, then stepped in again and straightened his tie, but didn't let it go. A slight tug drew Martin forward and he'd been almost expecting the kiss really, but the manner of it, the heat of it, still took him by surprise. Martin melted into the kiss, meeting every demand with his own quieter passion.

The blare of a taxi horn startled them apart and Martin swallowed hard, surprised to see Douglas actually looking a bit wrecked, but then the smile was back, pleased and smug. 

"That's my pick-up; I should go," Martin said, not a little sadly. "Douglas," words deserted him as they all too often did, "thank you."

Douglas' lips quirked up, "I assure you the pleasure was all mine," and he stepped back again, creating a little more space between them and gesturing to the open door. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," Douglas told him as Martin gathered his things up and began to move. To Martin’s surprise and pleasure Douglas walked with him to the taxi, bending down to look in as Martin settled himself.

"Fair skies, my Captain." And if there was perhaps just a little more emphasis on the third word, then it was all but unnoticeable to the casual eavesdropper, which was more than could be said for Martin's blush. Then Douglas was shutting the door with a chuckle and the taxi was pulling away. 

Martin watched his reflection in the glass; the collar was invisible beneath his shirt and tie, but he could feel it shift against his skin with every small movement - a constant grounding touch that, against all reason and logic, made him fly.

FIN


End file.
